The Professor
by TeenTypist
Summary: Draco was glad the corridors were empty, that no one was there to see him take possession of his new office, watching history repeat itself. EWE. Post-war. Glimpses into Draco's life.
1. History

**Author's Note: **This idea came to me as a 25 word micro fiction, but once I had the idea, I had to write a bit more. I'm not sure if this is going to be a one-shot or if I might post a few more chapters. I had never thought of Draco as professor until I read a short story the other week where he was one, and while the story was cute, it just didn't quite feel right in the way Draco was a professor. This...this feels right to me. There may be more, but right now, I'm pretty focused on my Dramione story Law and Marriage.

Draco was glad the corridors were empty, that no one was there to see him take possession of his new office, watching history repeat itself.

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><p>Draco was glad that the corridors were empty, that there was no one to see him take possession of his new office. To watch history repeat itself.<p>

His trunk levitated behind him, following him. The dungeon level corridors were cold compared to the mild heat of the English summer outside. He kept his hands in the pockets of his robe, feeling for once like his hair was too light, that it lit up the darkened halls as much as a torch might.

He was almost embarrassingly grateful for McGonagall's offer. Thirteen months in the world outside of Hogwarts after the last battle was enough to make him want to hide, and Malfoy Manor simply would not do. The bulk of the Malfoy fortune had gone towards restitution payments of various sorts, and the power and prestige they'd once had was gone. He'd almost considered adopting his mother's maiden name for some distance, but for Salazar's sake he'd gone to school with some of the very students he'd be teaching. They knew who he was. He couldn't really hide. Not even here.

Still, of all the places he could go right now, Hogwarts was the closest thing available as a refuge. He would find no love at the new Ministry of Magic. The risks associated with entering business were too high, especially when he now had neither power nor money to spend. Those that had been allied with Dumbledore would never forgive him for all the years of torment and pain caused by him and his family. Those who had once been his friends, his allies and cronies, would never forgive him for his family's last minute defection. He was in no man's land.

He found the office that had once belonged to his head of house. The office and rooms that would be his now. He wondered if Snape too had been torn between seeing them as a sanctuary and a prison.

Draco wondered what had possessed him to seek out Hogwarts. And what had possessed Minerva McGonagall to give him a chance. He knew that he hadn't been much help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts up to now. He'd made a few token attempts to help, but the dirty looks he'd received and the snide remarks about him being the reason it was in ruins in the first place had dissuaded him from continuing. It wouldn't have helped his family's reputation at that point anyway.

The walls of the office seemed to press in on him. He didn't know how long he stood there, his trunk still obediently behind him, but slowly, he began to feel that the walls were not trying to suffocate him, but to embrace him. This was home now.

He would throw himself into teaching himself everything he needed to know before September first. He had one last test to pass before he would be allowed to teach, but he had no doubt he would pass. For one thing, he had nowhere else to go. And no one else wanted this job anyway.


	2. Firsts

**Author's Note: **This story is kind of coming to me in bits and pieces. I think it's going to be a series of glimpses into Draco's life as a professor. I don't expect most of the scenes to be real long, just glimpses as to how Draco is progressing in life after the war. This is very much Epilogue, What Epilogue. Enjoy!

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><p>Draco had been spending as much time as possible in his office or classroom or living quarters. Without the students in residence, it wasn't particularly necessary for him to be present at meals in the Great Hall. The house elves would bring him anything he asked for. He hadn't looked in the mirror in weeks, but suspected that he was paler than ever and that there might be circles under his eyes.<p>

Beyond the house-elves, Minerva McGonagall had been his only visitor. She never commented, but he could read pity and disappointment and worry all tangled up in her face. Not that she had the time to spare him any real attention to do anything about it, even if she had been feeling inclined to do so. She had too much to do with coordinating the ever continuing task of healing Hogwarts, in body and mind so to speak, and ensuring that the castle would be safe for the students who were coming.

Today however, that would all change. He knew he should look in the mirror and attempt to make himself look presentable before the examiner arrived. Minerva had said that he would have to pass his Potions NEWT if nothing else if he was to begin teaching. The examiner was making a special trip to test him. If he passed…

If he passed, he really would be a Hogwarts professor. And the students would all arrive tomorrow. And before that, he would have to face the staff meeting at 9 AM. He'd been avoiding the staff room since his arrival, unwilling to meet the eyes of his former teachers, now colleagues. He doubted they'd see him as a colleague. They'd see him for what he really was. A refugee. Hiding from the world within the walls of Hogwarts.

Within his own head, he heard a bitter chuckle, though no sound came from his lips. It would have been too much effort. If he was a refugee hiding from the world which left him no place in it after the war, what we're all of they? What were they hiding from? Some of them had been here a very long time.

The image in the mirror was no worse than he expected, and he dressed in a clean set of robes and even took the time to perform a de-wrinkling charm. The examiner would know that there were special circumstances involved requiring him to test today but Draco had no means of knowing whether being granted a position at Hogwarts was on the line.

What would McGonagall do if he failed? What would he do? He couldn't fail.

He kept his mouth set with determination as he walked out to meet the wizard administering the exam. It was almost a surprise to see him. Quite an ordinary looking wizard, no majorly distinguishing features, but Draco had seen no one but McGonagall and the house-elves for weeks.

Grueling hours later his work was done and he waited to learn his fate.

Though the tension in his body released somewhat when the man announced that he passed, he didn't smile. It had been a long time since he smiled. He thanked the man and turned to the Headmistress, who had been standing by waiting for the pronouncement as anxiously as he had.

"Welcome aboard, Professor Malfoy. We have a staff meeting at 9 AM sharp tomorrow. The students will arrive tomorrow evening and I expect to see you at the feast, as well as all other meals from this point on. The rest of your teaching materials and the faculty handbook will be delivered to your quarters shortly."

He nodded. One trial done, a thousand to go.

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><p>Draco sat at the table in his best robes. It took all of his upbringing not to fidget. He was seated between Trelawny and Vector and didn't anticipate being able to make much conversation with either of them. The staff meeting had been painful enough. Some members of the staff had seen him since his arrival. Many of them had been professors here when he was still a student, such a short time ago. He could see questioning looks on some faces, but no one contradicted Minerva's introduction of him at the time.<p>

Now he sat, waiting for the first years to arrive. The house tables were filled with the older students. He wondered how many of them could see the threstals that pulled their carriages up to school.

Hagrid led the first years into the room in a skittish line. Flitwick-Filius he corrected himself-set out the Sorting Hat and three legged stool.

As the brim opened and the scratchy voice began to sing, Draco hardly listened to the words. As each student approached the stool and took his or her turn, he wondered whether they would be one of his charges. Yes, he would teach them all, but some would be members of his house. There were no other Slytherins in residence who could have become the head of house. Even from a distance, he could see where cliques had started to form on the train and wondered how many of those fledgling friendships would survive the Sorting?

He watched a girl with brown pigtails, a dark eyed boy, and and a gangly sandy haired fellow join the Slytherin table. He tried not to appear too interested or too bored as four more students were sorted into Slytherin. Seven. He had seven first years. It seemed so few, though just possibly…too many.

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><p>Draco was already at his desk as his first class filed into the room. Second years. At least they were young enough not to have been at school with him. He wondered if McGonagall had arranged it that way on purpose.<p>

"Everyone sit down. Be silent."

Gradually the room quieted.

"Open your books to page one. I trust you all did the assigned reading. Now…" as he began to review the material they should have read over the summer, he realized that the sandy haired girl in the third row was chatting with the boy next to her, and in the back row a student appeared to be drawing unicorns. Did they really think he wouldn't notice? He continued lecturing, pausing long enough to pick up the piece of parchment covered in unicorns, and glare at the student. He stood up at the front of the room and crumpled the parchment pointedly, dropping it in a bin. He continued his lecture.

At the end of the lesson the students left, but he knew that only half of them had been paying him any attention.

He knew that there were professors when he was a student who you simply didn't cross. Snape had been one of those, though he'd known he was a privileged exemption in that class—he knew other people didn't even think of crossing Snape. And McGonagall. No one in their right mind tried to pull the wool over her eyes or disrespect her in the classroom. He wouldn't survive teaching if he couldn't become one of those professors. He had to. Maybe he'd start the next lesson with a reminder of the dangers of potion making and what could happen when it all went wrong. He growled in frustration as he saw that the student who had been drawing unicorns at the begging of class had drawn something else later—a caricature of himself and someone pouring a boiling cauldron over his head.

Discipline. He was going to have to discipline them all. He wouldn't let the next class get out of hand.


	3. Yule

**Author's Note: **Just a little something.

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><p><em><strong>Yule<strong>_

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><p>Draco was sure that this last class was going intentionally slow. All the same, he was glad to know that it was the last one before everyone went home for the winter holidays. He'd be pleased to have a couple of weeks of peace, with only a minimal number of students present. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere, but at least then there wouldn't be so many faces to see every day.<p>

He inhaled with displeasure. Under the best of circumstances, this was not a potion that smelled particularly good. When brewed by a bunch of amateurs who couldn't follow instructions, it was worse. He stalked through the line of tables, peering over shoulders and into cauldrons. "Clearly, no one's minds are on the task at hand. Welton's potion is nearly thick enough to stand his wand up in, and Parch's is so thin I can see the bottom of her cauldron. You will not remedy this in the next ten minutes. Clean up these pathetic attempts and get out." There wasn't as much vitriol in his voice as there could have been—he was ready for a break as much as they were.

There was a scrape of chairs as everyone began to do their best to clean out their cauldron's and get rid of the debris left from cutting ingredients. By now, they all knew that if they missed anything during clean up, there was a good chance he would make sure it appeared in their next potion and ruined it. Wickham had learned that the shrivel-fig skin he hadn't thought was important enough to clear of his table created a nauseating smoke when it found it's way into his next sleeping potion. And Bingly had learned about the misfortunes someone could have if they didn't feel like putting forth the effort to clean their cauldron properly.

He watched the classroom empty itself and heaved a sigh of relief. Suddenly he found he was not alone. There was a little mouse of a girl in front of him. Apparently the classroom was not empty.

"Professor Malfoy," she started, looking awkward, though there was a determined glint in her eye.

"What is it?" he asked, exasperated.

Her jaw firmed and she reached into her bag. "I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas." She pulled out a package, wrapped in plain brown paper and thrust it into his hand. She turned and all but fled.

Draco stared after her for a moment. She was a bright enough student, not exceptional, but hardworking. She tended to try to help whoever happened to be sitting next to her, though some days there was no one. He stared at the parcel in his hand for a moment before tugging on the twine and opening it. There was what appeared to be a handmade scarf. It was light blue. It was rather lumpy, as though the person making it was still learning to do things consistently.

He hadn't expected a single present this year. He wasn't on speaking terms with his mother or father. He had no friends. His only thought for Christmas was that he was glad to see the end of the students for a short while.

Slowly, he wrapped the scarf around his neck. He ran a finger down the hanging length of it. While it might be lumpy, it did seem soft, and warm.


End file.
